


Stars on Your Lips

by foggynelson



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynelson/pseuds/foggynelson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya's an alien. Sorry. <i>Half</i> alien. A fact which gives him certain powers - super speed, immense strength to name a few. And superb kissing skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars on Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on tumblr given to me by [illyakvryakln](http://clintbartons.cf/) on tumblr:
> 
>  _napollya superhero au where the reason illya seems barely human is because he /is/ barely human_.

“So what you’re saying is you’re not even human?” Napoleon questions.

“No,” Illya replies for the fifth time. “Not what I am saying. What I am saying is I am not fully human. Only half human.”

“Because your dad’s an alien?”

“Yes, that is what I am saying.” 

“Like Superman?”

“Superman? I am a super man, yes.”

Napoleon sighs. “Never mind. This makes no sense, Peril. You’re not an alien.”

“Yes, only half alien, you are correct.” Napoleon looks at his partner unsure of what to say. Because this can’t be real. Aliens aren’t real. They only live in comic books and the minds of crazed people. And yes, Napoleon knows that Illya’s mind is different, but he couldn’t imagine this living inside of it. 

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to make excuses for how your father treated you, Illya?” Napoleon asks. Now this - this makes sense, a weird coping mechanism. 

“No,” Illya responds, clenching his fists. Napoleon steps back, realizing his mistake. Saying anything negative about his father only makes things worse for Illya. 

“I’m sorry,” Napoleon says. Illya lifts his eyes from his fists. Napoleon never apologizes - he especially never apologies to Illya. He was supposed to say something rude and Illya would punch him and Napoleon would fight back. It’s strange, but Illya is grateful for the apology, grateful to not have to hurt his partner.

“So does this mean you have super powers?” Napoleon asks, smiling, hoping the question is welcomed, his tone light.

“I am very strong.”

“Don’t I know it,” Napoleon responds, thinking of the first night they met. It wasn’t every day you met someone who could pull the back off a car or who could hang on for as long as he did. Napoleon has met no one with as much strength as Illya - and he’s met many strong, powerful people. But Illya is truly a force with which to be reckoned. “Any other powers?”

“I am very good kisser.”

Well this, wow, this takes Napoleon by surprise. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered. He’d seen Gaby and him kiss a few times and there was something about it - the way Illya held her, the way she always smiled afterwards, something! - that intrigued Napoleon. 

“And that is because you’re an alien that you’re a good kisser?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have like a super long tongue or something?”

“Or something.”

Napoleon sighs again, completely unsure where to go from this point. He supposes there’s no harm if Illya thinks he’s an alien - half alien. Everyone has their own delusions in their lives. So Napoleon leaves it alone, instead asking Illya what his thoughts are on their new mission.

 

It’s a hot day and Napoleon feels weird being back in the states. Most of their missions have been across Europe, one in Japan, another in Turkey, but it's only the second time Napoleon has been stateside since they all teamed up. New York is almost the same as he remembers it, only slightly busier, a few buildings taller than he remembers. 

Illya and Gaby are touring an art gallery of a suspected international arms dealer, a Mr. Sattler and his wife. Napoleon was supposed to meet with the dealer’s wife as an interested buyer in what they were selling. But no one has showed at the meet. Napoleon is quick to worry his cover has been made, but no one comes for him. No one comes at all and Napoleon waits for hours, unsure of what else to do.

When he doesn’t hear from Gaby or Illya far past their check in time, Napoleon tries to call Waverly, but their comms seem to be down. Casual as he can, Napoleon leaves, making his way to the nearest phone booth. He first calls Waverly, a dead end. Unsure of what else to do, he calls the art gallery. He asks to speak to Mr. Vasyuhin but minutes later is told that there is no record of a Mr. Vasyuhin visiting the gallery. 

“All right, thank you,” he says, ready to hung up.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Solo.” This pauses Napoleon. He hadn’t given the man his name - even if he had, he wouldn’t have used his own. 

“Where are they?” Napoleon asks, his voice bitter, sharp.

“Oh Mr. Solo, why don’t you come find out? Come, try to save your friends.” The call disconnects after this and Napoleon has no choice but to go after Illya and Gaby. He tries Waverly once again, but with no response. He’s unsure if they have him too, but then remembers that Waverly is in England and probably asleep due to the time difference. Unhelpful, but it’s good to know at least one of them is safe. He calls Waverly once more and leaves a coded message telling him he’s going in after the other two.

About a block away from the gallery, Napoleon is accosted on the street by four people. They’re big - closer to Illya’s size than his own. He does his best to fight them off, but they’re skilled and four is too many for him. “Is this really necessary?” he questions. “I was on my way to you; you didn’t have to come after me.” His smiles up at his captors before one hits him on his head and everything fades out, quick cut to black.

 

Napoleon wakes up later, tied up in a chair. Across from him he spots Illya and not too far off is Gaby. Napoleon looks around and sees no one in the room with them. “Are we alone?” he questions. Gaby shakes her head no and then uses it to gesture upwards to the corner. Napoleon looks and finds a few guards in a room above them, looking down through a large window. With them is the gallery owner’s wife, the woman Napoleon was supposed to have met with earlier.

“Spectacular work, Cowboy,” Illya says a few minutes later. “Gaby was so sure you would come and save us, but instead you make things worse.” Napoleon looks over at Illya, ready to call him out for having been caught himself. Instead of looking upset, though, Illya is almost smiling and once he notices Napoleon is looking, he winks. It’s quick and soon Illya is scowling again, but Napoleon gets the idea.

“So what it's my fault you two got caught in the first place? I shouldn’t have trusted you two to do anything right. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - I work better alone. I’d be so much better off if I had never met you both.”

“You’d be dead without us, Napoleon,” Gaby points out.

“That’d be better than being stuck here with you,” Napoleon spits in reply. 

And it continues like these for minutes, the three calling out each other for every single mishap that has ever happened. Napoleon can tell that everything is starting to get to Illya. It’s not supposed to be real, supposed to be a charade, but the words still sting. 

Napoleon is grateful moments later when he sees Mrs. Sattler making her way out of the room and down the staircase. She is tall, her red hair tied up. She’s dressed nicely, and she smiles as she walks towards the three. 

“Children, children,” she calls. Her voice is warm, inviting, soothing. “There’s no need to fight. I will kill you all, I promise you.” She smiles wide, her teeth bright and gleaming, sharp. 

“You can’t kill me,” Illya says. “No matter how hard you try.” Mrs. Sattler laughs, loud, boisterous. She turns to one of her guards and grabs their gun. She holds it out in front of her, pointing it at the three of them in rotation.

She then walks over to him, the only sound her heels against the floor, the echo loud in the large room. She leans down close to Illya, her face close to his. She holds the gun against his temples. “I can and I most certainly will.” She smiles as she speaks but fails to notice Illya’s own smile growing at her words. Before she stands up straight, Illya has grabbed the gun and holds it against Mrs. Sattler’s head.

“Untie them now or I will shoot her,” Illya calls at the guards. They all point their guns at him, but Illya uses Mrs. Sattler as a shield so no one can get to him without hitting her too. 

“Untie them!” Mrs. Sattler calls at her guards. They rush over to Gaby and Napoleon. Once free, Gaby walks over to Napoleon and grabs hold of him. Walking backwards, Illya makes his way over to the two. 

“How do we get out of here?” Illya asks, pressing the gun tighter against her head. 

“That way,” Mrs. Sattler replies, pointing to the left. 

Illya turns to the guards. “Don’t follow us. Once we are out, I'll let Mrs. Sattler go. If any of you follow, I will kill her.” Illya’s voice is strong and doubtless he means what he says. He turns to Napoleon and Gaby and asks, “You okay?” They both nod. “Good, let’s go.”

They move as quick as they can manage with Illya pulling along Mrs. Sattler. She’s going on about how they’ll regret this, how her and her husband will get them, no matter where they go. None of them pay much attention to her words - they’ve heard it all before.

When they reach the door, Illya turns to Gaby and asks, “Would you like to do the honor?” 

“Yes, thank you,” she replies. She reaches out and punches Mrs. Sattler - first in the stomach, a few times in the face, and kicks her once in the chest. When Illya lets go of her, she falls to the ground. Gaby smiles. “That felt great. Thank you, Mrs. Sattler.” She waves as the three of them walk out the door.

 

They run as soon as they’re out, unsure of who has been sent after them, but knowing that someone has been sent. Napoleon wonders if they should split up, but the thought is unwelcomed. He has no desire to be apart from the two, at least not right now. 

It’s not long before they’re attacked. There are five this time, but they are no match for the three of them. Illya, of course, is stronger than any of them and Gaby has gotten a lot better at fighting (she’s always had the strength, but her technique had been lacking). “Is anyone else coming?” Napoleon asks one of them, lifting him off the ground. He quivers before shaking his head no. Napoleon drops him. There’s no way to know if he’s telling the truth, but he hopes he is. Napoleon is tired and, honestly, just wants to make their way back to hotel in peace.

And that’s what happens. No one comes after them. Napoleon continues to expect someone to pop out at them as they finish their walk to the hotel, but no one does. Illya stops at the front desk to ask for any messages. There’s one from Waverly telling them (in code, of course) to call off the mission, that their cover is blown. The message was left ten minutes after they had all left the hotel.

It’s quiet in the elevator as they head up to their rooms. Gaby and Illya’s room is on the floor below Napoleon’s but he leaves the elevator at the same time they do. “You okay, Cowboy?” Illya asks.

“I just thought we should debrief, try to contact Waverly, see what our next step is and everything.”

“Fine, but let’s make it quick. I want to get some sleep,” Gaby says, grabbing the key from Illya’s hand and opening the door for them. She walks in, collapsing on the couch, the two sitting in the chairs across from her.

Napoleon uses the phone next to him to call Waverly. For the first time all day, the call goes through. Napoleon gives a play-by-play of everything that’s occurred and waits for instructions - all of which are to simply leave it alone for now until they can find out how the Sattlers knew they were coming. “You should enjoy the sights while you’re in New York,” Waverly says before hanging up. It’s a nice sentiment, really, but Napoleon has no real want to be outside in the open.

He turns to Gaby and Illya and tells them they’re holding off on doing anything with the mission for the time being. “Thank God,” Gaby says. “I want that bitch in jail, but I also really want to sleep.” Napoleon smiles. Gaby gets up and makes her way to the bathroom.

“Wait,” Napoleon says, “there’s something I was wondering about.” He turns to Illya and says, “How long were your hands untied?”

“Almost immediately after they tied me up.”

“Then why didn’t you get Gaby and run?” Napoleon questions. Illya looks down at the words.

Gaby speaks up and says, “He heard they were going to come after you and he didn’t want to leave without you with us.” With that, Gaby walks into the bathroom.

Napoleon turns to Illya. “Really? You waited for me? You sure have gone soft, Peril.”

“Oh shut up, Cowboy,” Illya replies, but instead of his normal vemon, his voice is softer, lighter and Illya looks away from Napoleon’s gaze.

“Admit it,” Napoleon says, grinning, “you like me. You like working with me and Gaby.”

“I like Gaby, yes,” Illya replies. 

“And you like me, too,” Napoleon prompts.

“And I would like to punch you, yes.”

Napoleon smiles. “So let me guess, it was your alien powers that helped you untie yourself?” he says wanting to change the subject. There’s something in the way that Illya is looking at him that off putting, something in his smile that Napoleon simply can’t place.

“Yes, this is true.”

“So you have extreme strength and speed. Any other powers? Heat vision?”

“You forgot the kissing,” Illya points out. 

“Yes, of course. The kissing.” Napoleon swallows. Illya has the same look on his face and Napoleon doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“Illya tell you about his father? How he’s basically a superhero?” Napoleon turns. He hadn’t heard Gaby come out from the bathroom but she’s standing there, smiling, wrapped in a white robe.

“You believe him then? That he’s an alien?” Napoleon questions Gaby.

“Half alien,” both Illya and Gaby reply. “And yes, I do believe him,” Gaby says. “The kissing speaks for itself.” She smiles, sighing. “You could learn a lot from him, Napoleon. You’re not very good.”

“I take offense to that, Gaby.”

“It’s the truth. Your kisses are very… wet. You’re not supposed to try and drown the other person.” Illya laughs and Gaby smiles. “I am off to bed so you better be quiet. Or better yet, go to Napoleon’s room and you can talk or kiss or whatever you want to do. Good night.”

“I… I am a good kisser!” Napoleon calls. Gaby shakes her head as she disrobes and lies down in her bed. “I am a good kisser!” he says again, this time his voice more a mumble, the words more for himself.

“Whatever you say, Cowboy.”

“There’s no way you’re that much better of a kisser than me, Peril. No way.”

“Wanna bet?”

“All right. Whoever wins gets to take lead on the next mission.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Now how do you wa--” Napoleon starts but stops as Illya’s face is next to his. They aren’t touching, not yet, but Napoleon can feel Illya’s breath, can feel his heat, his warmth. Illya grins before he leans and kisses the shorter man.

It’s almost instantly that Napoleon knows he’s lost the bet. Illya is a phenomenal kisser. His lips are surprisingly soft, which feels amazing in contrast to the scruff on his face which scratches up against his skin lightly. His mouth tastes of cherries although Napoleon can’t recall Illya eating cherries today - let alone at any other time. 

Illya reaches up, his fingers tracing the side of Napoleon’s face. His fingers are rough, but not as rough as Napoleon would have suspected. They are slightly cold but leave a warmth down the path they travel. Illya bites Napoleon’s lip, causing him to moan, louder than normal.

They part moments later, Napoleon breathing heavily. Illya stays close and says, the words burning Napoleon’s face he speaks, “I beat you.” Illya steps back and returns to his own seat. Napoleon is still breathing heavy, unsure of what to say, if there, truly, is anything for him to say.

With no words in mind, Napoleon stands up and makes his way to the door. Reaching it, he grabs hold of the doorknob. He holds it, hesitating. He looks over at Illya. He’s sure the Russian is smiling, proud of himself. (And he should be, Napoleon thinks. He’s kissed many people but none have ever been as good, never have ever made Napoleon feel the way he does now.)

“Illya,” Napoleon calls. The other turns his attention to the door. He is grinning as Napoleon has suspected. Using his head, he gestures to the door. “How about a rematch up in my room?”

Illya’s smile widens as he stands up, making his way to the door. “You’re on, Cowboy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://bpdkuryakin.tumblr.com/). Special thanks to [valiantbarnes](http://valiantbarnes.tumblr.com/) and [systematicalchemy](http://systematicalchemy.tumblr.com/) for helping me with this.


End file.
